Lost
by LjBullets
Summary: A series of oneshots after watching Lost Boys.  What if the boys all had families, siblings and parents they left behind? I don't own Lost Boys.
1. David

His name was David.

1952 saw New York as one of the coolest places to be. Whether you had money or not, New York was the most popular city in the States, and the citizens sort of knew it would always be that way.

Of course, with every popular city, there are disappearances.

Harry gazed around the room that had belonged to his older brother. He and David had never really gotten along; David was one of the bad boys, keen to stay out late, and Harry had heard he was involved in a few of the crimes that went on. David had always been a rough boy, and the right side of the law had never appealed to him.

Harry surveyed the bed, the sheets still messy from the last time David had slept there, during the day over a month ago. Dirty clothes still littered the floor, and there was a red stain on the carpet, from where he'd spilt _something_; it looked like blood. Harry shivered, and blocked the thought from his mind.

At first, he'd been glad that David was gone. It meant that he had everything to himself. But it only took him a week to realise that he'd enjoyed the small, pointless arguments with his brother over things like the stereo, or which clothing item belonged to who. Harry had been a bit upset that David, where ever he was, still had his black coat.

Harry sighed and closed the door. His parents were still putting posters everywhere, advertising for David as though he were a lost pet. But he meant much more to them than just being a pet. Without the rebellious son, their family wouldn't – _couldn't_ – be whole again.

Harry knew David would never come back. He was off someplace bette, enjoying himself.


	2. Dwayne

His name was Dwayne.

Mark looked at the sign he'd pinned up on the wall. Of course, Santa Carla wasn't the best place to be looking for a lost soul; the pages of hundreds of other missing persons ads fluttered in the wind, creating a wall of flapping pieces of paper.

1946; they'd ended the war last year. If they could build such big bombs to destroy entire cities, why couldn't they find one person? Dwayne Had only been gone for a week, and yet most of Mark's friends dismissed him as gone forever. Mark himself didn't want to give up; the hope of a thirteen-year-old still burned in his chest, and he prayed that Dwayne might show again. Even if Dwayne himself didn't show, maybe some sign that he was still all right...?

Mark felt an arm around his shoulders, and looked up at Rosie, his 20-year-old sister.

'He's not coming back, Squirt,' she stated, and Mark felt a bitter tear roll down his cheek. Squirt...Dwayne had always called him that, not Rosie.

Mark pulled away and ran, leaving Rosie and the wall of missing faces behind. He just wanted to be alone.

Because inside, he already felt alone.


	3. Paul

His name was Paul.

Jessie sat on the front porch every day, just watching and waiting for the day he would return. Everything had been fine until those new friends of his had turned up: David and Dwayne, they were called. They only ever showed after sundown, and they never stayed the night. They had told Paul that he should go with them, on a hunting trip. Jessie, being a daughter of the 60s, had tried to stop him; killing animals didn't sit well with her, especially when it was with those two creepy friends of Paul's.

The way David had looked at her most of the time, it was as though he thought she was something to eat, and it made her nervous.

But Paul had gone with the other two anyway, setting out before sunrise. Jessie had hugged Paul tightly, and told him to come back in one piece. She had vowed to wait on the porch for him.

Three months later, she was still waiting.

Her parents had tried everything; starving, leaving her without water, ignoring her completely, begging, pleading, bribing; everything. But Jessie hadn't moved. She'd made a promise to her brother, her one friend.

She intended to keep that promise.


	4. Marko

His name was Marko.

He had no one; he was just a kid left to fend for himself on the streets. Until he met David, Dwayne and Paul.

They all acted tough, but he saw through the tough exterior. There was Dwayne, who missed his little brother and his annoying older sister. He regretted allowing himself to be stolen from them, but they were both dead now, as well as his parents. He'd lived in Santa Carla, but he'd been away for such a long time.

Then there was Paul, who wanted desperately to return to his sister, who'd made a promise to him. His sister was also his best friend, but he was afraid of how she would react when she saw what he was now. She would have aged eight years, yet he would still look the same way he had when he'd left, albeit with a lot more leather and denim.

There was Max, the Century Man: he'd been one for over a hundred years, and he had made it his job to seek out new victims; first a companion for himself, someone to keep him company, then a young person to keep his new companion company. He wanted to settle down, but he couldn't stay in the one spot for more than ten years, or people would know...

But the one that intrigued Marko the most was David.

David, in his brother's stolen coat; David, who had rebelled against his parents because he knew they were getting divorced; David, who had run away, straight into Max's waiting arms...

Marko knew that he'd never admit it, but David was scared of Max. He could see it in the way David rebelled, the way he argued, the way he broke every single rule, the way he took instant charge of the other four boys.

It didn't take long before Marko joined them. He sort of liked watching David fight against the guilt inside that trapped him, whether it was by killing, by disobeying rules, or by his blatant disregard for safety. Every time David did something "tough", Marko would grin, because he was the only one that knew what really hid inside.

Marko knew, but he never told them how he knew.

He never once told any of them he was a telepath.


	5. Max

Max was proud of them.

He was their father, their creator. He had made them like him, and now he would start searching for a woman, to play mother to his four boys.

But he didn't want to leave Santa Carla, not right now. He'd made a new addition – Marko, the invisible street urchin – and he had liked the town the last time he'd been here. It had changed so much, and so many people spent all night partying, and all day sleeping. He'd fit in perfectly.

As for his boys, well...

So long as they cleaned up after themselves, there was no reason to worry about being caught. And Max knew they would clean up after themselves, because he had taught them to do so.

He didn't care that they'd had families before, and he didn't care that he had practically kidnapped Dwayne, David and Paul. All he knew now was that none of them had any family left. He knew, because he'd seen to it. Now, they were four boys, lost from society.

The Lost Boys.


End file.
